Our Little Secret
by Dystopiac
Summary: Helen needs Syndrome's help to crack the codes. Syndrome wants something in return. Series of four chapters. Light smut and heavy violence.
1. Don't call me sweetheart

_Don't Call Me Sweetheart._

* * *

Helen needed those codes. Bob needed those codes. Dicker needed those codes. And it was up to Helen to find a way to crack them. This wasn't easy when the only person able to crack them was the creator and former CEO of OmniCorp, diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic and acquitted mass murderer and terrorist. Buddy Pine. Syndrome. Currently eight months into his two year house arrest and temporarily banned from acting as CEO of OmniCorp.

The things money can buy. The whole trial was a farce from the very beginning. Syndrome's lawyer argued that his client, Mr Pine, was not guilty by reason of insanity and that Mr Pine was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic with a history of refusing to take his medicine resulting events like this. When he did take his medicine, he argued, Mr Pine was a charming and charismatic individual and one of America's greatest patriots, having founded OmniCorp from scratch and turned it into a multi-billion dollar company produced weapons and technology. Mr Pine alone had a fortune estimated at $19 billion.

'Mr Pine is a genius inflicted with a serious illness and he cannot be held responsible for his actions – his illness was the reason and the cause and Mr Pine was helpless to stop himself,' the lawyer concluded. Of course, Syndrome played the part excellently, Helen must admit. Telling the court how slow he felt on medicine, how useless and dulled. It was as if he was 'wadding through cotton wool, every sense is deadened' and he 'just can't think.' He had stopped taking his pills because without them, he felt like himself, alive again, but with them, he felt nothing. He felt as if he had depression. Hadn't he suffered enough already? The horrific burns covering the right side of his face and moving down below his shirt collar, testament that he could survive being sucked into a jet engine, were the shock factor. Mr Pine would not only have this whole ordeal hanging over him for the rest of his life, but he would see it whenever he looked in the mirror, reminding him of the damage he could do without his medicine.

The jury swallowed it all up. That, and the little backhander Syndrome had given them. The judge, too.

So much for American justice. Syndrome was found not guilty by reason of insanity and ordered to temporarily step down as CEO of OmniCorp and to spend two years under house arrest, and to keep taking his medicine. He received nothing more sinister than an electronic ankle tag and the threat of surprise visits to ensure he hadn't stopped taking his medicine. Aside from that, he was let off completely.

All those supers he had murdered. All the civilians injured or killed. Their lives were worthless if you had the power to bribe the courts. Helen's testimony, Bob's testimony, even their children's testimony was worthless. The children of the Supers Syndrome has ruthlessly murdered remained without justice and were left with the taste of betrayal in their mouths.

Helen couldn't believe it. Bob was furious and remained so for days afterwards, when the media was still a storm stirring up the events all over the papers, television and radio. It was everywhere. It was worldwide. OmniCorp's shares and profits went through the roof. Buddy Pine was everywhere. There is nothing like a crazed and sadistic madman attempting to murder all the Supers in the world to boost revenue.

Six months later Xerek appeared.

Which is why Helen was here; outside the California mansion currently holding Syndrome and about to break in. If the only person smart enough to crack the codes and stop Xerek was Syndrome, then she'd make him crack the codes. He'd have to do it, otherwise Helen would grab him and throw him outside into the streets, breaking his house arrest and resulting in, what she hoped, was serious trouble. Syndrome wasn't so tough without his weapons and gadgets. He was a sitting duck.

The mansion itself was the typically luxurious type. With, she estimated, probably six or seven bedrooms, a lot of bathrooms and even more sitting rooms. In one of those rooms was Syndrome. Up on the roof, Helen opened one of the glass ceiling windows carefully, both thankful and curious that they weren't hooked up to the security system. She slided in, and dropped delicately to the floor. Even the cream carpet was luxurious.

She was in. Now all she had to do was find Syndrome. She decided to go straight on and see where she was led, careful to keep her senses on high alert. After a few moments, she came to the staircase and went down it. She moved through a series of sitting rooms before coming to a large kitchen. Across the kitchen counter was empty soda cans, packets of European and Japanese candy, dirty ashtrays and pills. Pills were spread out all over the counter, some had obviously formed words but had been scattered about. There were red pills, yellow pills, pink pills, blue pills and aspirin. Empty yellow bottles with prescription labels had been thrown into the sink, alongside a few empty coffee mugs and, strangely enough, a computer keyboard and mouse.

Helen moved on, until she found another staircase, this one leading downstairs. Considering she hadn't had much luck finding Syndrome so far, he had to be down this stairway. Except Helen had no idea what was down there, only that by logical conclusion it must be the basement. And yet, for all she knew, she could be walking straight into a trap.

Determination won out, and she slowly moved down the stairs, stopping every few steps to slow her breathing and racing heart. At the bottom of the steps she found herself coming face to face with a bullet proof glass wall, in the middle of which was a door with a high tech electronic door lock connecting to a large steel handle.

Behind the glass wall was Syndrome. He was sat in a large basement room filled with desks, upon which sat computer screens, blueprint sheets and more coffee mugs. All over the basement were various electronic gadgets and weapons in a half built state.

Helen's pulse quickened even further as she found herself staring at the man who had nearly killed her family, kidnapped her youngest son and destroyed their home. He looked as though he was unaware that she was there, sat leaning over a desk behind several computer screens, fiddling with an electronic circuit board. Unlike the cocky and arrogant pseudo-Super he portrayed himself to be, this Syndrome looked completely unthreatening. His flaming ginger hair was tied back in a greasy, messy ponytail and he was dressed simply in black cargo pants, a long sleeved black shirt, grey socks with a pair of rectangle glasses sliding down his nose. On his left ankle was the electronic tag. Helen winced as she looked at the burn scars covering half his face and neck, giving him a Two-Face style appearance.

Helen remained so distracted staring at the healed skin that she hadn't noticed that Syndrome had leant back in his chair and had closed his eyes. He opened them and looked straight at her, smiling arrogantly as he did so. Helen frowned and stepped forward to reveal herself fully, displaying her authority over him as a Super. He heaved himself out of his chair and walked towards the glass door where he stopped and stood with his arms folded, the arrogant smile still on his face.

The two remained this way for a minute, each staring at the other, before Syndrome moved to press the button on the intercom on the electronic door lock.

"You know, I'm sure the media would _love_ to hear how I, the poor uncontrollable schizophrenic, am being harassed still by _The Incredibles_," he spoke to Helen through the intercom, his voice calm but still portraying the arrogance and cockiness of his personality. He stood leaning against the glass wall, waiting for Helen to reply.

"You tried to kill my family," was all she said in return, causing Syndrome to snort in response.

"According to the courts, I'm not responsible for my actions. You'll have to try that one again."

"You bought them all off and everyone knows –," Helen began, but Syndrome was quick to cut her off.

"What I want to know is, why you have come snooping around my home, and yes, I know you've been snooping around," he winked at Helen, "I mean, really, I'm an engineering and electronics genius, did you know think I'd have CCTV covering the whole place? Not a smart move, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart, you bastard," Helen was seething at the smugness of the man in front of her, separated by ten inches of reinforced glass, "I'm not one of your squeezes who you command about and toss into the gutter once you're finished with them."

"Speaking of squeezes, how is Gwendolyn? Or should I say Mirage, because I know how the NSA recruited her into their little gang in return for information on me. You and your kind like to play the preacher but we both know that corruption works two ways...honey."

"If my husband was here –," but Helen was once again cut off.

"But he's not here, is he, Elastigirl?" Syndrome paused for a moment and sighed, "Now, if you're done here, I suggest you leave and you can take the front door this time." He turned to walk back to his desk.

Helen, in a moment of pure desperation and fury at having failed what was originally such an easy plan, knocked on the glass and called out, causing Syndrome to sigh again and return to the intercom.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Helen began, "My husband doesn't know I'm here," she started, causing Syndrome to raise an eyebrow, "but I need your help."

Syndrome smiled again, before replying. "And why should I trust you?"

"You can't."

"Oh, truer words have never been spoken."

"It's Xerek," Helen stated simply, looking straight at Syndrome to monitor his response. There was no outwardly change in his face, but Helen could swear his baby blue eyes darkened a little.

"Xerek? That old British pussy trying to rip off my designs?" Syndrome snorted again. "He doesn't even try and hide it either, heh."

"Look, the NSA are willing to cut your house arrest short if you help us," Helen reached into her utility belt to pull out a simple looking USB pendrive. She held it up for Syndrome to see. "All you need to do is crack the codes on this."

There was a long silence, during which Syndrome looked off into the distance in thought. Helen looked into his face once again; his left side remained pale and freckled, the right side horrifically scarred. His right eye moved slower than his left, indicating that he had endured some damage to it, which explained Syndrome's sudden use of glasses. At the top of his hairline on the right side of his face, the hair was fine and dowdy as it had just begun to grow back from where it was burned away in the jet crash. Syndrome's calmness and silence was beginning to unnerve Helen.

"No. I won't help you," was Syndrome's reply, as he looked straight at Helen.

"If you won't help us, and I leave here, next time I'll be bringing my husband," Helen threatened.

"Sugar, you wouldn't be this confident if there wasn't this wall between us," Syndrome replied.

"Neither would you."

"You're a feisty one, aren't you? I can see now why Incredible married you," Syndrome leaned his head against the glass door, his gaze never breaking from Helen's. "I like them feisty." He smirked.

Helen, sensing that she was losing, brought up the only card she had, a card she never thought she'd have to say out loud, and certainly not to Syndrome. "Did you know Mirage had an abortion?"

This worked, because Syndrome was suddenly struck still, his eyes a little wider as he looked away again. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

He focused back, however, and the usual arrogance returned. "That's a shame, I would have liked a sidekick. As you know."

"You're a sadistic, heartless, cruel bastard, Syndrome." Helen couldn't help it, she was losing patience, and regretted being trapped on the other side of the glass, powerless to wipe the smirk off of Syndrome's face.

"Don't flatter me, sweetheart."

"I told you, don't call me -," Helen's face was the picture of fury, and Syndrome cut her off once more.

"Sleep with me," was all Syndrome said, and it took a moment for Helen to process what he had just said.

"What did you just say?" Helen was regretting ever having tried this plan, she should have just gone in heavy handed, the way Bob would have done. If Bob were here and not her, he would have ripped the door from its hinges and beaten Syndrome into cracking the codes. Which was exactly why Helen was here and not him, because she could keep her cool. At least, so she thought. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep calm.

"Sleep with me and I'll help you with the codes," Syndrome shrugged, looking bored. "I've always wanted to sleep with a superhero, and while you're no Vectress, you'll do, I suppose."

That was the final straw for Helen. She turned on her heel and walked back up the stairs, aware that Syndrome was watching her walk away with that arrogant smirk of his. Walking out of the mansion, she took one moment to take a deep breath, and as she walked through a large sitting room, she saw the extremely large LCD television attached to the wall. Furious at what Syndrome had said and the way he had treated her, as well as being furious with herself for allowing herself to get into this mess, she stretched and smashed her first straight into the television, smirking as it smashed and pieces fell to the floor. She hoped Syndrome saw that on his CCTV.

She walked out, slamming the front door behind her, leaving Syndrome alone in the basement chuckling to himself at his desk.

Cracking the codes, especially ones from Xerek, would take him less than five minutes. Syndrome started to laugh. Especially seeing as they were his codes to begin with. He was going to have a lot of fun with this. His revenge against Incredible and his family may have failed the first time, but now he had a plan to get at the lot of them. And this time, he knew it wouldn't fail. He swirled around in his chair, and instantly went upstairs into his bedroom to sort out the CCTV.

"She'll be back," he muttered to himself.

And a week later, Helen returned.

* * *

_- I've had this story in me for a while, but only just plucked up the energy to write it. This is the first chapter of four, and the rating will go up with the next chapter. _

_- Please try and imagine Syndrome's home as being similar to that of Tony Stark, especially the basement - I used the Iron Man movies as inspiration for Syndrome's home.  
_

_- Please review and let me know what you think. English is not my first language so any help is appreciated.  
_


	2. Never trust a villain

_Never Trust A Villain _

* * *

A week later, during which Syndrome had spent more time in his mansion basement sat in front of computer monitors drawing up blueprint designs, Helen returned outside his home, dressed again in her Incredibles super suit. Unlike the last time she visited, she didn't bother to sneak in. She stretched her arms to reach up to the first floor balcony and pulled herself up, before simply opening the balcony doors and letting herself inside. She knew Syndrome would see her on his CCTV. She didn't care.

Helen walked through the mansion, thinking she would find Syndrome in the basement once more, but instead found him in the main sitting room watching a new larger LCD TV; a replacement of the one she destroyed during her last visit. He was sprawled out on the large luxurious red sofa, one arm resting above his head which was propped up with a pillow. His right arm was resting on his stomach, where he was also resting the remote control. He was dressed in a similar manner to the last time she visited: hair tied back in a ponytail, dark navy cargo pants and a light grey long sleeved shirt. Oddly enough, he was wearing one bright green sock and one bright orange sock. The ankle tag was still visible, but this time he wasn't wearing glasses.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw her and said nothing, waiting for her to make the first move.

Helen stared down at him before speaking. 'How do I know you'll hold your side of the deal, and give me the codes?'

Syndrome smirked and repeated what Helen said to him a week prior. 'You'll just have to trust me.'

She frowned at his response. Syndrome chuckled before raising both hands in a gesture of mock defeat. 'Okay, okay, I'll . . . uh, do it after you sleep with me.'

'Not after. Before. You'll do it now.'

Syndrome sighed before heaving himself up. 'Okay, okay, sheesh.'

He signalled Helen to follow him and then walked slowly down to the basement, his socks making a slight patting sound on the cream carpet. Helen followed him, not taking her eyes off him out of distrust, and noticed that he had gained a very slight limp in his right leg. It was almost unnoticeable, but together with Syndrome's need for glasses and the burnt and scarred skin across his face and neck, Helen started to believe that Syndrome's injuries were a lot worse than they had all previously thought.

Syndrome led Helen through the kitchen, which had since been cleaned and tidied. On the counter stood a single empty soda can and a half eaten packet of Twizzlers. As they passed, Syndrome reached and grabbed one Twizzler and continued down the stairs to the basement, the Twizzler hanging out of his mouth giving him a childlike appearance. Once they were downstairs in front of the glass door, Syndrome quickly punched in the door code and the door opened with a slight hiss. He moved to let Helen in first before closing the door behind them.

Sitting down in front of a running computer, he connected the USB pen drive into the computer, put on the pair of glasses that were lying next to the keyboard and watched the screen as it turned white with lines upon lines of specialised codes and numbers running down the screen. Helen stood behind him with her arms folded, watching as Syndrome began typing furiously at the keyboard, chewing absently on the Twizzler as he did so.

As he was typing, he spoke to her without taking his eyes away from the screen. 'So, uh, does this mean you're going to sleep with me after this?'

'Just do it,' Helen snapped. Syndrome smirked again. Elastigirl's refusal to answer the question told him all he needed to know. She was going to sleep with him.

Behind him, Helen's mind was racing at a pace too fast for her to keep up with. Was she really about to do this? Wasn't there any other way she could get these codes unlocked? Violence was out of the question – Syndrome was under house arrest and his house whole was rigged with CCTV, so any damage that might occur to him could easily be discovered to be her doing. There was no one else who had the intelligence and computer smarts to break these codes – the NSA had searched the world over twice frantically looking for a tech able to do so. As much as she, Bob and the NSA disliked it, Syndrome held all the cards. He was the one in control.

Helen tried not to think about Bob. To think she was about to betray her husband, with the man who had two years ago tried to kill her entire family. She felt disgusted with herself and angry at Syndrome for being able to hold this over her. She told herself that what she was doing was for the greater good, that the lives of millions across Europe counted on her. In the end, she reasoned, no one else had to know how she got Syndrome to break the codes.

In front on her, sat at the desk, Syndrome paused typing, sat back and took a deep breath before reaching over and hitting the 'enter' key. Instantly, the complex codes and long lists of numbers on the screen were replaced with new shorter codes which scrolled down the screen. At the bottom of the screen one final code was flashing. Syndrome let out a small 'heh,' typed some final commands into the computer and pulled out the USB pen drive. He swivelled round in the chair to face Helen, grinning arrogantly, and held out the USB pen drive to her.

'Done,' he said.

Helen snatched the USB pen drive off of him, glaring as she did so. Syndrome stood up from the chair and the two stood facing each other; Syndrome smirking and Helen glaring.

'Time for your side of the deal, sweetheart,' he said, leaning back on the desk. Instead of rebuking him, Helen grit her teeth at his patronising terms of affection. She looked down at the USB pen drive in her hand, clutching it tightly.

'Lead the way,' she said, using every bit of her strength to stop herself smacking the arrogance from Syndrome's face.

They left the basement workshop, Syndrome typing the security code into the door lock to alarm the basement, before they went upstairs. Syndrome led her to the front hallway where a large staircase led up to the first floor of the mansion. Neither of them spoke as he led her towards the back of the mansion, finally coming to a stop outside a pair of cream double doors, behind which was Syndrome's bedroom.

'After you,' Syndrome said as he opened one of the doors to his bedroom, gesturing for Helen to go first. She glanced at him, and then walked in, Syndrome behind her, shutting the door.

Syndrome's bedroom was similar to the overall luxury of the mansion. There was a large kind sized bed with another LCD TV attached to wall opposite the bed. Another door led off from his bedroom into what was no doubt a walk in wardrobe and another one which was probably a private bathroom, and the walls of his bedroom were decorated with framed posters of golden age DC and Marvel superheroes and villains. On the bookcases sat many books about engineering, electronics, computers, and mechanics mixed in with graphic novels and manga. Piled up in front of the TV were DVDs of horror, thriller, action, anime, cartoons and, Helen could just make out, a copy of Mean Girls. The bedside cabinet on what she assumed was Syndrome's side of the bed, was cluttered with yellow pill bottles and empty bottles of water.

'Make yourself at home,' Syndrome said, not bothering to mask the amusement in his voice as he opened to the door to walk in wardrobe and went inside. Helen sat at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap before she took a closer look at the pill bottles on the cabinet. _Anti psychotics, anti depressants, anti anxiety, sleeping pills, epilepsy pills, aspirin, caffeine pills . . . _Syndrome must be taking a cocktail of drugs a day, Helen thought. Underneath all these pill bottles was a framed photo which had been placed photo down on the cabinet. She lifted it up carefully, trying not to make too much noise as she could hear Syndrome searching for something in the wardrobe.

The photo was of Syndrome and Mirage in a sunny environment similar to that of Southern Europe. Syndrome, wearing business slacks and a white business shirt, had his arm around the waist of Mirage who was wearing a casual summer dress. Mirage was smiling up at Syndrome. Helen put the photo back, feeling slightly sick. She was reminded that, although Mirage may have switched sides and now worked for the NSA, she did have a hand in Syndrome's plan.

'You know,' came Syndrome's voice as he walked out from the wardrobe and leant against the door frame, 'I thought you might like to wear this.' He tossed something black and lacy at Helen and watched for her reaction. She unfolded it and found it to be a laced sheer black lingerie babydoll dress.

'Are you kidding me?' Helen replied. 'What, it's not good enough that you get to do this, you want me to put on a show for you as well?'

'Well, you did agree to this,' Syndrome shrugged. 'It's not gonna be a five minute quickie, you know. I wanna enjoy this.' He winked at her.

'You . . .' Helen spat out, before she was interrupted by Syndrome.

'That door leads to my private bathroom; you can get ready in there. There should be some makeup and perfumes in there, so, heh, doll yourself up a bit, would you?'

Helen glared at him once more before reluctantly walking through the door to the private bathroom. She shut the door behind her, and sat at the beauty table, which was cluttered with expensive makeup and perfumes. Helen knew these must have been Mirage's, and wondered why Syndrome hadn't bothered to get rid of all of her things yet. She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering once again whether she was really going to be able to do this. No matter, she already had the codes and Syndrome was expecting his side of the deal. She could always sneak out, but there were no windows in the bathroom. Besides, Syndrome wasn't stupid. He would have rigged up an extensive security system to prevent her getting away.

She took off her super suit, feeling what little confidence she had left just drain away. She slipped the babydoll on, not bothering with any makeup or perfumes. She looked at herself in the mirror again, hating the person she saw back. A woman who betrays her husband with his enemy.

'You done yet?' Syndrome called out, and she walked back into the bedroom. Syndrome was stood by the bedroom door and had taken his shirt off.

The true extent of his burns was revealed to Helen. The burns didn't just cover the right side of his face and neck, but travelled all the way down, covering the right side of his torso and stomach. His right arm was scarred with cuts and burns as well, from the jet engine explosion. Syndrome stood, looking Helen up and down as she stood looking at his scars.

Syndrome nodded for Helen to get on the bed, which she did so slowly. She sat up, leaning her back against the headboard, her eyes straight ahead not blinking. Syndrome moved to stand by the side of the bed, before sitting down, his back facing her. Helen could see the burns moved round to cover his back as well. The left side remained relatively undamaged, revealing pale freckled skin. Syndrome moved down to take off his odd socks, scratched his head and then moved to climb on top of Helen.

Helen led down in the centre of the bed with Syndrome on top of her. She avoided looking at him, keeping her eyes fixated on the ceiling. Syndrome was stroking her cheek, his other hand running down the side of her body, before coming to rest at her hip. Her rested himself on his knees and took hold of the babydoll, untying it to leave Helen wearing only her plain underwear. He reached around her back and unclasped her bra, pulled it off and smirked as he pulled down her plain black panties, leaving her naked. Helen fought the urge to scream and cry.

Syndrome placed back his hands on her shoulders and moved down to cup her breasts before undoing the belt on his cargo pants and taking them off along with his boxer shorts, tossing them to one side. He led on top of her now, his breath hot against Helen's neck. He let out a slight grunt and Helen gasped as she felt Syndrome force his way inside of her. Helen pushed down the urge to scream in her stomach. She wouldn't allow Syndrome to see her crying at what she had been reduced to.

Helen allowed her mind to wander, her eyes threatening to cry as she busied herself thinking of anything to take her mind off what was really happening. She thought of Bob and how different he was from Syndrome. Bob was gentle, loving, had warm skin and smelt of shampoo, clean clothing and aftershave. Syndrome was different. He was rough, focusing on his own enjoyment (not that Helen wanted to enjoy herself) and smelt slightly of sweat and motor oil. He was making small grunts against her neck, his hair falling over her neck and face, his hands holding tightly against her hips.

Helen thought of Mirage and how she and Syndrome had been together romantically as well as working together. She wondered whether Syndrome had hired her first, then had a relationship with her, wondering how it was that Mirage had fallen for Syndrome. She wondered whether Syndrome had been this way with Mirage as well, and whether she had enjoyed it. Mirage had always seemed so calm, collected and patient and it made Helen wonder how it was that Syndrome, who was loud, arrogant, cocky, impatient and full of hatred, could have possibly managed to convince Mirage to be his girlfriend. Helen wondered if the two fought, if they did, did they fight often, and what about. She wanted to know if the two had loved each other, or whether it was just casual. She thought of Bob, who was strong and protective about her and their children, and fought back another sob as she thought of how Bob would feel if he could see Helen now.

Syndrome let out a large gasp as he made his pace quicker and harder, and Helen tried to ignore the pain spreading throughout her pelvis area. Syndrome lifted his head up to look at Helen, taking one hand and cupping her chin and kissed her. Helen didn't kiss him back but didn't stop him either. He tasted of coffee, Twizzlers and soda and Helen closed her eyes.

She thought then of Syndrome, the boy who had been rejected by her husband, and what he made of himself since then. She thought, had Syndrome not been so consumed with rage and hatred, of how great he could have been. He had built up a massive company from scratch, becoming one of the youngest billionaires on the planet, and yet, had thrown it away in the question for revenge against Bob.

Syndrome was still young, Helen mused, yet he had killed so many Super and civilians alike in his quest for revenge. He had survived being sucked into a jet engine and yet there was something childlike about him. As if he had never truly grown up. He had power and money, but he was reckless and arrogant, which caused his downfall. He was a genius, but he was a sadistic madman.

Syndrome grunted loudly against Helen's cheek before slowing down. He went hard and slow and grunted with each movement. With a few more thrusts, he quickly pulled out of Helen, much to her relief, and came between her legs all over the bed sheets. He remained on top of Helen for a few minutes, breathing heavily, one hand stroking Helen's hair away from her face. He chuckled then, before suddenly getting up to put his boxer shorts and cargo pants back on. Helen sat up, her arms wrapped around her chest and moved to the side of the bed, away from the mess of Syndrome's semen in the middle.

She quickly fumbled around with her bra and panties before going back into the private bathroom to put her super suit back on. In the mirror, she saw her reflection. Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy from refusing to let herself cry. Her hair was slightly messy and Helen quickly used Mirage's old things to freshen herself up. Helen looked at herself in the mirror but couldn't recognise the person staring back at her. She felt in shock and wanted to get as far away from Syndrome as possible and forget everything that had happened.

Once back inside the bedroom, she found Syndrome taking two caffeine pills and swallowing them dry. He looked at her and winked.

'Marie's gonna have fun cleaning that up, heh.' He nodded towards the bedsheets.

'I'm going now,' was all Helen replied. She made to walk out of the bedroom, but Syndrome followed her after looking up at the corner of the ceiling and smirking.

'You know, this has been a nice visit,' Syndrome started. 'It's certainly made house arrest a little, heh, less _boring_.'

'I hope you enjoy yourself once you're all alone again.'

'Oh, I will, don't worry,' Syndrome smirked. 'Trust me; this whole house arrest thing has actually done me a few favours.'

'Like what?' Helen growled.

'Well, it's made it a lot harder for all you Supers to come after me, for a start. And, uh, let's see, there's the whole gotta-take-my-medicine thing, which can help every now and then. Stops me from going _completely_ nuts . . . and, uh, what else . . .' they were nearly at the front door now, and Helen had her hand on the door handle before Syndrome grabbed at her to face him as he smirked, 'there's plenty of time to remotely change the codes on Xerek's neutron bomb.' He shrugged.

Helen looked at him intently. 'You wouldn't dare . . .'

'Oh, I don't know, I mean . . . I did design the bomb. Sure, it's an old model, and I'm pretty pissed at Xerek for stealing it from one of my warehouses, but I reckon I could still access it remotely. Xerek's not the brightest crayon in the box, and besides, it'll be fun to see you come crawling back again to, heh heh, _beg_ me to break my own codes. The NSA don't really do much research to find out where these weapons come from and who designed them, do they? And from the looks of it . . . neither do you.' Syndrome glared at her with full cockiness.

Helen could only take so much. She felt a fire burning within her, and before she knew what she was doing, she hit Syndrome with full strength on the right side of his face, the damaged side. Syndrome was knocked to the floor, groaning in pain, clutching the damaged skin. Helen stood over him and with one swift movement stamped her foot down on his lower stomach, narrowly missing his pelvis area. Syndrome was coughing in pain and chuckling at the same time, and Helen, not wanting to spend a moment more in his presence, walked proudly out the door, leaving Syndrome on the floor in pain.

Syndrome lay chuckling on the floor and leant against the door. He was bluffing, of course, he couldn't remotely change the codes as Xerek had already activated the bomb and could detonate it at any time, but it had been worth it to threaten Elastigirl with. The real revenge would be totally different. There would be no weapons, no bombs, and no big plans. All he needed to do was go down into the basement, and pull the CCTV from his bedroom.

'Heh, you shouldn't trust a villain, Elastigirl. Especially one with a score to settle, _sweetheart_.'

* * *

_Please take a look at my other Incredibles story. It's an Iron man crossover and deals with Buddy Pine's thoughts regarding a certain other weapons engineer from the Marvel universe. _


	3. Showtime

_Eight months later_

Helen was busying herself doing the washing up for breakfast. She had already said goodbye to Bob when he left for work, and dropped Violet and Dash off at school, so now she was alone in the house to complete her chores and look after Jack Jack. The small portable TV by the side of the kitchen sink was still discussing the events with Xerek, who had died in a massive warehouse explosion.

The codes Syndrome had given her had worked and blocked the remote access signal to the neutron bomb, rendering Xerek's terrorist plan a failure.

_Syndrome._

Helen had done her best over the past few months trying to forget and erase from her memory what had happened to her; what she had put herself through to get the codes to stop Xerek. The first few weeks afterwards were filled with sleepless nights, curling in on herself in bed and allowing a few tears to sneak out from her eyes. She had had depression: wilting away, not eating properly, staring at nothing in particular, oblivious to her family who worried so much about her. She had hated her appearance in the mirror, hated seeing herself in her underwear after a shower. At first, the bruises between her legs and around her hips were noticeable, but she worked hard to prevent Bob and her children from seeing them. Then they began to fade, and instead of physical reminders, Helen was left with the trauma of seeing Syndrome on top of her whenever she closed her eyes.

The slightest touch from Bob made her jump, and their intimacy had suffered months of stagnation because of it. She had become extremely protective of Violet, knowing full well that there were men out there who would take full advantage of her innocence and naivety. Men like Syndrome. Helen grasped the plate she was holding so hard it nearly chipped.

Upon returning home, and finding the children asleep and Bob waiting for her, she had gone to the bathroom; thrown up and showered hard, scratching at her skin determined to remove any trace of Syndrome. Even now she could still feel the grasp of Syndrome on her hips and his breath against her neck. She had to choke down the tears once again.

Her biggest fear was Bob finding out what she had done. Helen swore to herself she would do anything to protect Bob and her family, and would submit herself to through her ordeal once again to keep her family safe, but she couldn't stand the idea of hurting Bob in this way: having him know that Syndrome took full advantage of her and that there was nothing she could do about it, otherwise Xerek would have succeeded and she would have failed. Then it would have been the innocent civilians of Europe who suffered. Helen would rather it be her alone who suffers, than have anyone else be a victim to another insane terrorist.

This was something Helen had to bear the brunt of herself, and though she was tired, she remained strong. She was determined to prevent her family from finding out, and was steadily returning to her old self again, with much effort.

She had finished her washing up, sighed with determination, and went into the living room with him to check on Jack Jack, who was watching children's educational cartoons. Helen noted how, now that he was much older at the age of three, he had more of a control over his powers, and understood how he shouldn't burst into flames or turn into steel when out in public or having a child's tantrum. Helen was proud of him. The discovery of Jack Jack's powers meant that the whole family suddenly understood how Syndrome had dropped their child and been sucked into a jet engine, although he survived (and they really couldn't figure out how he did that, and he never said a word when he was out of hospital and well enough to be interrogated).

She sat down on the floor with Jack Jack, and watched the cartoon with him, cuddling him protectively. She was determined that Syndrome would never again harm her family.

She was busying herself with Jack Jack when the mailman came and left their mail in their mailbox. Helen left Jack Jack with the book they were reading, and went to gather the mail. There were the usual bills and circulars and leaflets, a letter addressed to her from Dash's school and a large brown envelope addressed to Bob. Once inside again, she opened up the letter from Dash's school and sighed as she read that Dash had once again been disruptive in class. Since beginning a new middle school and being allowed to enter for sports so long as he didn't do anything to risk suspicion, Dash had become a show off, and a typical jock.

Helen was so distracted by the news of Dash's behaviour once again that she left all the other mail on the kitchen counter for Bob to deal with. She picked up Jack Jack and prepared herself to go to Dash's school to see the principal about her son's behaviour.

* * *

It was later in the evening, just after dinner, that Bob checked the mail. He passed over the bills, knowing they were the usual electric and water bills, put the leaflets and circulars in the trash and paused at the brown envelope addressed to him. Outwardly, there was nothing unusual about it: his name and address was printed on a sticker, and there were no other marks on it which indicated where the letter had come from.

He opened it and found inside a plain silver DVD in a clear plastic sleeve. He pulled it out and looked at it. On the DVD, written in a manner similar to that of a child's handwriting was three simple words: _I love you._

Bob immediately dismissed it as perhaps a prank. The DVD more than likely contained a virus or a stupid episode of a stupid cartoon. He left the DVD on the dining room table and ignored it until later.

Violet and Dash had gone to bed, and Helen was putting away the last of the laundry which had been forgotten about as they were too busy discussing Dash's behaviour in school. Bob sat down in the living room and put the DVD into a DVD player, thought for a moment and then pressed play.

He sat back and expected to be proven right, that it was nothing more than a childish prank, and when the screen remained blank with flashes of static, he moved forward to turn it off. He stopped when the screen flickered and on came an image of two people in a bedroom. There was a woman wearing lingerie lying on the bed and a shirtless man standing to one side, before sitting on the bed.

Bon wondered who had sent him the DVD and why, when he suddenly noticed that the woman on the bed looked a lot like Helen. So much so, that he looked harder at the woman on screen and moved closer to the TV. The woman was staring at the ceiling, saying nothing, and she had on a Super mask, covering the top half of her face. Bob stared harder, trying to make out the details on the woman's face.

She had the same body as Helen, the same hair, and the same lips . . .

He turned his attention to the man on screen, noticing the burn scars, the ginger hair in a ponytail . . .

_Syndrome. _But then . . . it couldn't be! Could it?

Bob watched with a feeling of dread and sickness in his stomach as the man in the footage, _Syndrome_, climbed on top of the woman and began to unbuckle his pants.

Bob coughed with sickness as though he was choking. It couldn't be! It wasn't! Syndrome was pranking him, surely!

He turned his gaze from the screen and that was when he noticed Helen standing still in the doorway, his face full of horrors, her arms by her side. Her eyes looked watery, and she began to silently cry.

"Bob," she began, only to be cut off by him.

"Tell me that's not you, Helen," Bob stated, his voice low, his eyes fixed on Helen in the doorway.

"I . . ." Helen started but didn't finish, tears gently dripping down her face, her mouth wobbling.

"Helen," Bob began again, his voice dangerously low, "tell me that's not you on there."

"Bob," Helen had both her hands in front of her, gesturing at Bob to calm down, but he stood up, his back to the screen as the DVD continued and Helen saw her trauma once more, only this time it wasn't in her mind.

Bob didn't say anything. Instead, he ripped the DVD player from the wall, dropped it on the floor and stared at Helen. Then he walked calmly outside into the backyard. Helen stood where she was for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, breaking into pieces. She wiped her eyes and then went outside to find Bob.

"It's not what you think," she said lamely, as she stood in the backyard behind Bob. His fists were clenched and he was looking straight ahead. He made no motion to indicate he heard her.

"Then tell me what it is."

"I . . . I didn't want to, Bob!"

"You didn't want to?" Bob's voice was like the calm before the storm, and Helen knew he was going to erupt soon, so she knew she needed to explain before he did something stupid.

"No, Bob. I -"

"It didn't look like he was FORCING YOU ON THE DVD!" Bob had turned around now to stare at Helen. He was angry and she was scared.

"I had NO CHOICE!" Helen replied, shaking with anger in return and fear of what her husband was feeling.

"NO CHOICE? NO CHOICE? No choice TO DO WHAT? TO CLIMB INTO BED WITH HIM?"

"I NEVER CLIMBED INTO BED WITH HIM!"

"No? I didn't see him pinning you down! Is this why you've been so out of it these past few months? MISSING YOUR TOYBOY?" Bob regretted it the moment he said it as he saw the look of betrayal on her face. She looked the way he felt.

"I DID IT FOR YOU!" She screamed back.

"For me? You climbed into bed with SYNDROME FOR ME?"

"YES! It was the only choice I had!" Helen's face was puffy and blotched with tears and her voice was congested from crying. "HE GAVE ME NO CHOICE!"

"YES YOU HAD A CHOICE! YOU COULD HAVE SAID NO!" Bob exploded. He felt as though his heart had been wrenched from his chest, knowing what Helen and Syndrome had done together. He could only see in rage and knew that later he'd regret everything he'd said in anger.

"You weren't there! It was the ONLY WAY! He wouldn't have given us the access codes otherwise!"

"Oh, OH, so THIS was what this was all about was it? Getting him to give up the codes? You couldn't beat them out of him so you slept with him instead!"

"DON'T BE STUPID! YOU KNOW WE CAN'T TOUCH HIM!" Helen screamed.

"IT'S SYNDROME! BUDDY PINE!" Bob yelled so loud Helen backed off a little. "It's not enough that he has to try and kill us AND OUR SON, but you have to go and let him do this to you as well!"

"YOU'RE NOT LETTING ME SPEAK!"

"No, you're not letting me speak, Helen!" Bob sighed. He knew he was handling it all wrong but he was too hurt to act any other way. "I told you I wasn't strong enough! That I couldn't lose you again! And then this! Helen . . . I don't know . . . I don't know how I can get over this."

"Bob, please," Helen spoke softly. "I . . ."

"This is not about you, Helen."

"Yes it is about me, Bob! You weren't there! You didn't go through it!" Helen was hysterical, "Oh God, Bob . . . I . . . Syndrome, he blackmailed me into it, I didn't want to . . ." Helen broke down even harder, so much so that Bob went over the comfort Helen. He held her tight in his arms and stroked her hair as she wept into his chest.

Bob had calmed down now. His shock of seeing Helen on screen with Syndrome paled when he saw how distraught his wife was in front of him. He knew he had grossly overreacted and made it worse for Helen, who clearly had been suffering for quite some months.

"It's okay, Helen . . . I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that," Bob said as he comforted his wife.

Helen was still hysterical, and through her sobs she managed to choke out, "Oh, Bob, what did I do? What did I do? I had no choice; he gave me no choice, Bob! I can still feel him grabbing at me, Bob! I love you so much, Bob, I'm so sorry . . ."

"Shh, Helen, it's okay, we're going to be okay, we can survive this, I promise you," Bob picked up his wife in bridal form and carried her inside the house into their bedroom and lay her down on the bed. She curled up into foetal position and Bob lay down beside her, still holding her.

"I love you, Bob, so much," Helen mumbled through her tears which were being calm down.

"I love you, too, Helen." Bob replied.

"What are we going to do?"

There was a pause as Bob thought of his answer. "We're going to get through this, Helen. We can get through this." Bob replied calmly, knowing that it wasn't his wife who was to blame, but rather it was Syndrome.

Bob frowned at the thought of Syndrome. How was it possible that he was still tormenting them? He had killed dozens of Supers, tortured them, held them prisoner, tried to kidnap their youngest son, destroyed their home and then bribed the courts to gain his freedom. Clearly he would always remain a threat to his family and to society as a whole.

Bob came to one simple conclusion as he lay holding his wife. Syndrome must be stopped.

No sooner than Bob had thought it, an iron curtain of sudden realisation and determination closed down in his mind. He felt all his anger and hatred towards Syndrome disappear, along with the hurt for his wife. Bob felt calm.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

_One week later_

Bob stood as Mr Incredible outside the mansion of Syndrome. As he stood, he wondered whether this was how Helen stood before she went in. He was doing this for her, he reasoned. This wasn't about petty revenge. This was about making things right.

He took a few steps towards one of the windows on the ground floor, one that didn't have a light on, and smashed it, not caring about noise or security alarms. No alarm went off, and Bob was left puzzled about this. Syndrome was an electronics genius, so why didn't he have a rigorous alarm system in his own home?

Bob paused for a moment. He had got the right home, hadn't he? He looked around the room he was in. There were no signs of who might be living there. He went further in, not knowing his way and relying instead on instinct to guide him. He assumed he was near the middle of the mansion, and no sooner than he made this assumption, he walked into an extremely large kitchen.

There were yellow pill bottles on the kitchen counter. He picked one up and read the label. He was definitely in the right home.

He knew Syndrome must have some sort of CCTV covering the house, even if he didn't have a security system. Bob didn't care. He wandered through some more rooms, before coming to a staircase leading down.

He went down them and once at the bottom found himself facing a large glass wall. Behind the wall was Syndrome's workstation. Bob looked around, trying to find the ginger haired maniac and smiled triumphantly when he saw him.

Syndrome was leaning over in his chair, his face was on the desk and he was clearly asleep. Next to him, Bob could see another yellow pill bottle and he knew they must be sleeping pills.

It was show time.

Bob took a deep breath, braced himself and then ripped the door away from its hinges. The sound of the door being smashed woke Syndrome with a start and he looked around quickly before finding the source of the noise.

Syndrome stared at Bob as Bob walked through the now ruined doorway. Unconsciously, Syndrome took a few steps back, his hands out in a sign of mock surrender.

"Hello, Syndrome," was all Bob said to greet him. "Thank you for that DVD you sent us."

Syndrome, his brain not registering what he was saying until he said it, replied back, "You had to be there," with a smirk.

"Oh, no, Buddy," Bob replied as he advanced on Syndrome. Syndrome gritted his teeth at Bob's use of his hated real name. "That DVD is our evidence, it's our defence."

"What do you mean?" Syndrome replied. He was slowly moving to the right, closer to where he was keeping some of his electronic weapons.

"You raped Elastigirl."

"That's a lie!" Syndrome spat. "She agreed to it! It was a deal! YOU," Syndrome pointed at Bob accusingly, "shouldn't have your wife running around doing your work!"

"I'd be careful, Buddy. Blackmailing a woman into giving her consent isn't true consent. You blackmailed Elastigirl, she never truly consented to it." Bob was proud of himself for remaining calm for so long. He knew Helen would be proud of him, and he was enjoying goading Syndrome.

"Bullshit."

"You're a rapist, Buddy," the gap between Bob and Syndrome was narrowing and he could see how trapped Syndrome felt. "And you're not going to be able to buy your way out of this one."

"You've got nothing on me." Syndrome was slowly beginning to lose control. His actions were becoming more sporadic and Bob could see sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

"You're not so tough without any of your weapons, Buddy," Bob smiled, "And from the looks of it, you haven't been taking your medicine, either. You were so close to the end of your house arrest as well."

Syndrome had moved so far to the right that he could see, in one of the open drawers, a very basic gun. It would have to do.

"Heh, I think, heh, next time," Syndrome began and Bob knew for sure that Syndrome had been skipping his medicine, "you should send your daughter around." With that, he grabbed the gun from the drawer and fired at Bob.

* * *

_I had to cut it off here, I'm sorry. Otherwise it would have been twice as long. But there will be lots of violence in the next chapter!_

_Please note: I'm not American so I don't know much about the American school system. Dash is supposed to be twelve years old during this story, so I Google'd what school he should be in. If he's not supposed to be in a middle school, please tell me so I can correct it. _


End file.
